


Determined

by akane42me



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akane42me/pseuds/akane42me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is a determined man - yes indeedy-do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Determined

**Author's Note:**

> Written in July, 2006 for a mfuwss beta challenge.

DETERMINED

  
Long legs in fitted black trousers. What a blouse. Custom-tailored. Sewn-down front seams traveling upward from the belt loops in the waistband all the way up to disappear under the soft swell of her - were the twin rows of brass buttons intended to do that? The third ones from the top were positioned exactly over her - steady, man. He shifted in his chair. Getting a little close in here. Down there. Down, boy. 

He continued the happy journey upward. Neck of a goddess. Lips by DaVinci, a Mona Lisa smile. Licking her lips, shiny even in this lousy light. Eyes, big blue eyes, blue like her blouse, staring straight into his - my god is she actually flirting with me? 

He smiled at her and she immediately looked away. Like a cat. Purr. Here kitty, kitty.   
He willed her to look back. He fixed his eyes on her face. Concentrate. Use your powers of -

"...determined by forensics examination that the gunshot to the victim did not originate from the firearm of the undersigned, nor did the undersigned discharge the firearm which caused the death of... Napoleon!"

Illya Kuryakin's hiss brought Solo back to reality. A very different set of blue eyes drilled into his. 

"Napoleon, what are you doing?"

"I - uh..." Solo's sheepish look was enough to spin Kuryakin around. He took one glance and twisted back

"You are supposed to be helping me with this. Get your mind out of the gutter and read what I've done so far. Oh, never mind, just sign it. No, not there. Turn the page, you idiot."

"Sorry." 

"Where it says, 'It has been determined by forensics examination', and so on."

"Hmm." Small words in large paragraphs swam up at him. Determined, determined...

A black flicker caught his eye. She'd crossed to the nearer side of the security doors. Coming closer. She looked so, so good in that uniform. He thought of asking her to keep the blouse on. With the buttons open. With just the belt, but worn lower, and the baton. Determined, yes indeedy-do, I am determined to determine whether she would prefer to be the -

The papers jerked away from his desultory grasp and landed on the table with a smack, demanding his attention. A pen was shoved roughly into his hand, which in turn was shoved roughly downward to land on a thin black line at the bottom of a block of text. 

"Here. Hurry up. Attaboy's due any moment. If this disclaimer is not complete, I am afraid you will be wearing that suit overnight. And I will not feel one iota of pity for you or your pathetically pubescent fantasies." 

Solo looked down at his jail garb. Not a good color for just anyone, but he thought the pumpkin-orange color brought out the light-chocolate tones in his - chocolates. He smiled. Strawberries dipped in chocolate, stop at Oscar's and pick up an assortment of - 

"Hey, Solo! I heard you caught VD!" Raucous laughter, ala dirty joke, interrupted his reverie. 

Solo winced, and checked her reaction. She threw him a look of revulsion, and moved back to the far side of her post. 

Nick Attby flung himself into the vacant chair next to Kuryakin.   
"Get it? Vincent Dewane? Pretty good, huh?"

"Very funny. Could you keep your voice down?" Solo glanced at her again. Nothing doing. Damn the man. 

Solo frowned at Attby, who pleaded ignorance. "Geez, what's the big deal?"  
Kuryakin sternly pointed back at the visitor's entrance. Attby swung around and looked. "Whoops. Sorry." Clearly not. "Okay. You're up in 20 minutes. Gimme the thing." He grabbed the pages and rolled them up into a telescope. "See you upstairs."

Attby scraped the chair back and strolled lazily toward the guard, tapping the paper roll against the side of his leg. He stopped in front of her and tapped the epaulet on her right shoulder. His voice murmured a low something. 

She scowled at him, and stepped back to push the release buzzer.   
"In your dreams, Fat Boy." Not very loud, but Solo clearly heard her disgust. Attby pushed through the security doors, waving the papers high overhead as he went.

Solo shook his head. Nicholas Attby, the sharpest lawyer U.N.C.L.E. had seen in a generation. Brilliant, blustery, and blubbery. A social moron. 

Kuryakin studied Solo for a moment. "Maybe you could shoot him, too."

"I didn't shoot anyone. Would you please get up there and make sure he doesn't upset the judge?"

"So you want  _me_  to shoot him?" 

"As tempting as that sounds, not today. Just get me out of here."

"If you change your mind about Attby, send a message through the guard."

"Wait! Illya, I need a favor before you go. I really must get that delectable guard's phone number, but I think Attby ruined any chance I might have to get it."

"Forget it. He's married. He's wearing a wedding band." Kuryakin waggled his finger in a no-no gesture and rose halfway out of his seat to observe the second guard, male, standing behind Solo. 

"Don't be obtuse. Go be a good little spy and get her number for me."

"Get it yourself. You're the expert at gathering intelligence."

Solo waited. 

"The things I do for you. I'll go interrogate her." Kuryakin got up and crossed over to the female guard, leaving an open-mouthed Solo behind to watch and wait.

Kuryakin kept his back to Solo, and spoke quietly, so there was nothing to hear. His body blocked Solo's view. After a minute, her arm moved to the buzzer. Kuryakin returned to Solo. He whispered, "She says she never dates prisoners." He shrugged and retreated, off to find Attby. 

A deep voice said, "Let's go." Solo felt the movement of the guard behind him, and stood up. He cast a hopeful look at the woman. She stood ramrod straight and still, staring at a spot 1000 yards away. 

From feline to Frigidaire, in two seconds. Abraca-Attby. 

He followed his guard, intent on successfully completing the Release portion of New York's Finest's Catch-and-Release program.

***

He pushed his way outside, straightening his tie, shooting his cuffs. Was the air always so fresh? 

She stood at the bottom of the concrete stairs, still in uniform. The hat was gone, and the hair was down, a golden cascade in the sunshine. She smiled at him, and he didn't know how he got down the steps, but he must have, because he was suddenly before her. She answered his surprised look before he could form the question.

"You're not a prisoner anymore, Mr. Solo."  
He smiled his best-behavior smile, and linked his arm in hers.  
"I was hoping we could play cops and robbers..."

  
The End 


End file.
